Tori Phillips (27 page)

“What?” Belle retorted, attempting to play the innocent.

“Do not tread so lightly upon my patience. You know you were impolite to Lady Katherine, and she is to be your stepmother anon.”

Belle made a face. “Oh, Papa, do you have to marry her?”

Brandon prayed for fortitude. “The king commands it. Your grandpapa desires it. And, understand this, Belle,
I wish it
.” He said the last three words very slowly, so that she could not misunderstand him.

Her lower lip quivered. “Will you go away with her, and I’ll never see you again?”

He drew his child closer to him. “Nay, we will all live together.”

Her light brows knotted together into a tight bump. “Here? In this stinky place?”

“You have offered my services to clean the moat. Once that is done, ’twill smell as sweet as May blossoms.”

Belle put his arms around his neck. “Papa, the lady does not like me,” she whispered, as if imparting a great secret.

Brandon set her on his knee. “Lady Katherine knows all about you, Belle, and she still said to me that she wants you to be a daughter to her.” God in heaven, he hoped that was true!

“All?” gasped Belle. “Even about Grandpapa’s spectacles down the well?”

Brandon made a mental note to speak to his mother concerning the whereabouts of Sir Thomas’s hated reading glasses. “Everything.” He gave her a very serious look. “Methinks that ’tis you who does not like my Lady Katherine.”

Belle only shrugged, but Brandon knew he had hit the core of the problem.

“This day has been an eventful one for all of us, Belle. Francis suffers a grievous injury, and you have found yourself in a strange house.” He smoothed her hair in the way he knew she loved. “I have much on my mind, including the moat, and I need your help and understanding.”

“Aye,” she replied, though she didn’t look at him.

“Good. I shall hold you to your word of honor, Belle.” He put her down, then stood. “One more thing, sweetling.”

“Aye, Papa?” She looked up at him with the face of a cherub.

“There will be no toads, or any other foul creatures, put into Lady Katherine’s bed. Remember this well, for I share her bed.”

Belle sighed. “Oh, Papa. Not just one—for good sport?”

“Not even a tiny spider, or ’twill be no sport at all for you.” He gave her his best imitation of his own father’s stern look. “Mark my words, LaBelle.”

She appeared to consider what he had said, then asked, “Does Lady Katherine serve tansy cake at dinner?”

“You will have to ask her,” he replied, caught off guard by her shift of subject. “Now, away with you, and wash your hands. ’Tis time we eat. And, mind you, don’t toss the dogs any bones until dinner is over.”

As Belle skipped over the crushed shells of the path back to Mark and Polly, Brandon wondered if he was really cut out to be a father. How was he going to handle Belle after his mother and Celeste had returned to Northumberland?

The day wore on. Both dinner and supper came and went. Brandon grew more uneasy over the long absence of his father and the other men, who had spent the whole day searching for his attacker. Surely no harm had come to any of them, or he would have heard by now. Leaving Kat to entertain his family, Brandon climbed to the northern battlements. He stared into the darkening woodlands as the long evening twilight turned the shadows into purple specters.

Pacing along the wall walk, he willed the host of riders to burst out from the covering of the trees. Brandon had never been the most patient member of his family. Unlike Guy, who thought things through, Brandon plunged into the unknown with a cheerful grin on his face. Action, not waiting, was his bent Brandon smote the stone of the parapet with his fist.

Vengeance upon you, Scantling! Barbarous villain! I will have you in my tender mercies for seven days before you die.

Brandon cursed under his breath. What was he but a sluggard, skulking behind a curtain wall, while his family thrust themselves into danger on his behalf? He possessed no more valor than a tamed duck, waddling toward the roasting spit. He had half a mind to saddle Windchaser and go looking for them. The more Brandon paced, the better he liked that idea. As the moon made her first appearance in the pale evening sky, he could stand it no longer. He dashed down the spiral stairs to the courtyard.

Just as he reached the stables, he heard the clatter of many hooves over the causeway bridge. Guy, then Jack, drew up by the stable door.

“What news?” Brandon held Moonglow’s head while Guy dismounted. “Did you find the cur?”

“Nay!” Guy threw his gloves onto the cobbled stones. “The knave is as slippery as an eel. There was not a briar nor bramble, that we did not look under or trod down.”

Jack patted Thunder’s nose before leading him back to his stall. “We thought we had him several times, but the trail proved false. We found his lair—empty. Methinks he has taken poor Wormsley and gone into deeper hiding.”

“Or left the shire altogether,” Guy suggested. He pulled off his heavy saddle from the large gray horse’s steaming back. One of the grooms relieved him of the load.

Brandon shook his head. “Methinks not. Scantling has no other resources to fall back upon. He has cast his dice upon this board. Methinks he will hazard his very life as the stakes. Nay, he lurks around Bodiam still.”

Guy stretched, cracking his joints. “I am for a hot bath and food, brother. Tomorrow, we will—”

Sir Thomas rode up. He swung his leg over the pommel by way of dismounting, then he tossed his reins to one of the men-at-arms who accompanied him.

“No villain, my boy, but good hunting all the same.” Brandon’s father beamed with pride. “Shot a buck for your lady on the way back. Caught him in the gloaming, when the creature thought ’twas dark enough to come out and take a drink. Two arrows—straight and true: Fine hunting!” He slapped Brandon on the back. “Good woods here. Full of game.” He grew more serious. “We’ll find that villainous knave in good time, my son. I swear it. How does the boy?”

“Well enough. He sleeps.” Brandon bit back his disappointment. Tomorrow, he vowed, he would take to the forest and find the snake himself.

“Good! Good!” Sir Thomas pulled Brandon along as he walked toward the entry stairs. “Now introduce me to this new lady of yours. How does she look? A good breeder?”

Brandon cast a quick glance to heaven, begging for another pound of patience. “You will like my Lady Katherine, Father. She is everything I have ever wanted in a wife.”

Sir Thomas gave him a hard stare. “When did you ever want a wife, much less her qualities? Come, show me this wonder-worker! Do you think she’ll like the buck?”

Brandon hid his grin. “She will be most grateful for it, methinks. The king comes to the wedding—or so we have been told—and brings some of the court. Lady Katherine loses sleep over the prospect of feeding them.”

His father’s brows shot up. “The king, you say?”

“Disguised.”

Sir Thomas nodded. “Naturally. Who does Great Harry portray this time?”

Brandon smiled even more, despite himself. “Robin Hood, with all the merry men of his band.”

“Zounds! ’Twill be a fine excuse for a hunt. A real hunt in proper style!” Sir Thomas’s eyes snapped at the prospect.

“Not until we can rid the forest of its man-killing beast, Father,” Brandon said.

“And we shall! We shall! My word upon it! Now, my boy, what sort of table does this wench of yours set? I’m near famished!” So saying, Sir Thomas pushed Brandon up the stairs ahead of him.

In the late evening, Francis’s temperature began to climb. Sondra applied another poultice of herb twopence, Solomon’s seal and narcissus root to the wound, then gave the boy an infusion of willow bark in hot water for the fever. Despite her medications, the boy’s sleep grew more fitful during the darkest hours of the night.

For propriety’s sake, now that Brandon’s family was under her roof, Kat returned to the bed she shared with Miranda. Her cousin accepted her return without question or even the raise of an eyebrow. Kat lay wide awake, missing the warmth she had found in Brandon’s arms. As the hours advanced and no sleep came to her, Kat got up and pulled on her dressing robe. If she couldn’t sleep, she may as well make herself useful by sitting with Francis. Poor Sondra must be exhausted.

Slipping out of the room, Kat moved like a ghostly spirit down the hall. As she put her hand to the latch of the sickroom door, she heard voices across the way, where Brandon’s parents were lodged. While Lady Alicia spoke in muffled tones, Sir Thomas’s voice came clearly through the thick panels of the oaken door.

“Aye, the lady is pleasant enough, I warrant you, my love,” he said. “But look at her! She must be near eight and twenty! Too old for childbearing. Two husbands in a dozen years, and not one chick to count? What could the king have been thinking when he matched Brandon to her? I made my desire for an heir plain enough.”

A deep shudder of humiliation ran through Kat as she listened to her own fears spoken aloud. Her face grew hot with embarrassment.

Lady Alicia murmured something, then Sir Thomas continued. “Bah! With Brandon, all women are the same. He’s never cared for one more than any other. I could buy him a wife at the fair and ’twould be all the same to him. When the king comes, I will speak with him before our son is tied to Lady Katherine. Henry is of the same mind as I am. He will understand my concern for a grandson to inherit Wolf Hall after I’m gone.”

Kat bit back a sob of pure misery. Bad enough that Sir Thomas considered her too old to wed his son, but the thought that Brandon considered her no different than his past light-o‘-loves cut to her heart.

Lady Alicia said something else. Sir Thomas replied, “Oh, he’ll get over her soon enough. As soon as he is back at court, there will be another woman in his life the next week. And she had better be younger, and a breeder.”

Kat’s embarrassment melted into a simmering anger. What did Brandon’s father think she was—a broodmare? How dare he discuss her in such a casual fashion! Even if it was in private with his wife. Kat tossed her head. She would not give Sir Thomas, or anyone else, the satisfaction of seeing her humiliation. This was what came of listening at keyholes! Lifting the latch, she slid into Francis’s chamber.

By the flickering light of the low-burning candle, Kat saw Brandon sitting by his son’s bed. The yellow glow made both of their faces look pale and otherworldly. Dark shadows gathered under Brandon’s eyes. At the sound of her step, he turned.

“He is very warm,” Brandon said, his voice cracked with emotion.

Kat moved to the bedside and put her hand on Francis’s forehead. His skin felt dry and hot to the touch. “Sondra told me this often happens with a wound such as his,” she murmured, not daring to look directly into Brandon’s tortured eyes. He may not harbor deep affection for her or any other woman, but he certainly loved his children. “Have you ever suffered an injury such as this?”

“Aye.” His answer came out like a sigh. “I fought alongside the king against the French some years back. The campaigns came to naught, but I received several badges of honor. An arrow wound in the thigh, a sword cut here and there.”

“And did you ever have a fever?” she asked, finally looking directly at him.

“Of course, but I was a full-grown man and could shake it off,” he growled. “Francis is a sturdy little fellow, but he is so very young.” This last came out as almost a sob.

Kat laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. “He has your strength, my lord. He will get better soon.”

Brandon drew in a deep, rasping breath. “Are you a soothsayer, who can look into the future?”

“Nay,” Kat said, though she wished at this moment that she could. “Go to bed, Brandon. You need your rest. I heard you say you plan to search on the morrow for the villain who did this deed.”

He flashed her a look that she could not fathom. “Aye,” he answered shortly. “I am the one that whoreson wants. I will flush him from his bolt-hole.”

The venom in Brandon’s voice chilled her blood. “Take care of yourself, my lord,” she whispered. “I would not have you brought home with an arrow through your heart.”

His expression turned grim. “I do not intend for anything to pierce my heart.” With that, he rose from the stool. Planting a kiss on her forehead, he left the room.

Pulling her robe closer around her, Kat took Brandon’s place by the bed. A basin and a pitcher of water sat on the table near at hand. Kat wrung out a cloth in the cool liquid, then applied it to Francis’s forehead. The boy moaned in his sleep.

Kat did not know how long she sat with the child, bathing his fevered brow again and again. Time stood still in the darkness. The click of the latch startled her. Looking around, she saw Belle creep into the room. Dressed only in her long shift and with her bright blond hair unbound, the little girl looked like the spirit of an angel with a golden halo around her head.

“Belle,” Kat whispered. “’Tis late. You should be abed.”

Belle knelt down beside the boy. She touched his hand. “He’s very hot,” she whispered.

“Aye,” Kat replied, watching the child intently.

“What medicine has he taken?” Belle asked in a remarkably grown-up manner.

“A tisane of holly leaves for fever and a poultice made of yarrow mixed with hog’s grease, olive oil and wax for the wound.”

The girl nodded as if those had been her prescriptions, as well.

Kat wanted to gather Belle in her arms but restrained herself. The child had shown her a marked coolness this morning in the garden. Kat understood Belle’s concerns, but she didn’t quite know how to address them. She knew how to care for a sick old man, but not what to do for a heartsick young girl. Having never been around children for any length of time, Kat felt herself at a loss.

“Would you like to stay with me and help me keep Francis cool?” she asked quietly. Belle could sleep late in the morning.

“Aye,” the girl answered gravely. On her own initiative, Belle took the cloth off her brother’s forehead and dipped it back into the basin. With quick, deft movements, she wrung out the excess water, then reapplied it to Francis’s hot skin.